


Inertia

by Penthos



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: M/M, Slow Build, tw for alcohol, video game boyfriends in lov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 11:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4623843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penthos/pseuds/Penthos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael Jones is totally NOT in love with Gavin Free. Except maybe he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inertia

The hiss as Michael opens the bottle is almost as satisfying as the cold of it is against his skin. He takes a sip and heads back outside to the stifling heat, remedied only by the prospect of going in the pool in the very near future. 

"Michael," Gavin calls, from the sun bed where's he's been sprawled for the past hour, "Get over here."

Michael grins and waves his free hand at him. He loops around Geoff, and just manages to skirt away from a pair of hands trying to push him in the water prematurely (closer inspection reveals they belong to Ryan, the sneaky bastard), and sits down next to Gavin who's making grabby hands at his beer.

He gives a pointed sigh but hands it over anyway, pressing a cold hand to Gavin's back (sun-warmed and brown; he absolutely doesn't focus on the freckles across his shoulder blades) in retaliation. Gavin squawks and bats him away, widening his eyes at Michael as if he's shocked to the very core that he would do such a thing.

"You don't take someone's beer without having to suffer the consequences, Gav." He says sagely. Gavin takes a swig (i.e drinks almost half the bottle) and flops over onto his back, stretching his ridiculously gangly limbs out like a cat. Michael tries not to be endeared by this and fails spectacularly. 

"What happened to the swimmy part of swimmy bevs?" He says instead and also because his t-shirt is sticking to him in ways that are all kinds of disgusting and should probably be illegal. 

"Michael, boi, you are a genius!" Gavin scrambles up, all the lazy sleepiness gone from his body and half drags Michael (who is wrestling with his shirt at the same time) to the edge. 

His shirt doesn't escape the pool this time when Gavin topples them both in, but it's hard to be mad when the grin he directs at Michael could outshine the fucking sun. 

\--

This time, they're in Italy and Michael's had enough to drink that the reason they're there has slipped his mind, but it's a lovely country and the drink in his hand tastes good so he's a happy man. He sways a little on the bar stool and maybe he nearly falls because the next thing he knows is a warm hand on the small of his back and a voice in his ear,

"Whoa there, boi, you okay?" Gavin's face appears and Michael beams at him.

"Just peachy, Gavvers, and you?" He pats the side of Gavin's face in greeting which makes him giggle; Michael feels as if he's been awarded the Nobel Prize.

"Not nearly as drunk as I would like to be, if I'm honest." He says and sits in the seat next to him.

By the time the bar closes they're both closer to the end of the tipsy scale than they should be, considering Geoff told them they had work to do the next morning, but it's hard to care about that sort of thing when Gavin is clutching at his shoulder and wheezing about some joke he just told.

They're half-walking half-staggering down the street and in the light of the streetlamps everything looks burnt orange and warm. Michael's warm too although he doesn't know if it's from the climate, the alcohol, or the way Gavin's using him as zimmer frame. 

"Michael, Michael," He says slowly, trying to work out how one foot goes in front of the other, "I think we need to stop for a bit, boi, gravity is conspiring against me."

They sit down on the cobblestones, backs against the wall and it's refreshingly cool. Michael takes some lungfuls of night air and feels a little more alive. Gavin, meanwhile, looks about ready to collapse where he sits, head already drooping to the side and eyes closed. Michael is not gonna carry his unconscious ass back home again; even the memory of the aching back he had the next day makes him shudder.

"Don't fall asleep on me, man, c'mon let's get you up and back to the hotel where you can sleep till Geoff murders your ass for being a hungover bitch." He hauls Gavin up by his hands and manages to prop him against the wall again, but at least he's on his feet. When Michael lets go of his hands they only come back again, grasping and clutching at any part of Michael he can reach; lapels, hips, elbows. He's got his forehead resting on Michael's shoulder too, Michael, who's too far gone to do anything about it. 

He lets him, knowing full well he's going to hell anyway, but he tells himself he's too drunk to have the capacity of mind to stop it. When Gavin hooks his fingers in Michael's belt loops he breathes out through his nose slightly too hard; when a knee brushes the inside of his thigh he bites his lip; when he feels lips against his neck (warm, too warm against Michael's burning skin) he finally stops it with a shaky breath and a gentle hand pushing Gavin away. Better that he did, he tells himself, otherwise Gavin would be horrified if he knew what he'd done. He hopes Gavin's hangover is mean enough that he forgets this little episode and save everyone a handful of embarrassment. 

"Gav let's get you back, yeah? You're drunk as fuck, man, what did you have?"

He shrugs. "I dunno. Geoff handed me something so I," He pauses, furrows his brow and hiccups, "I drank it."

"God, when will you learn not to drink something from Geoff, you fucking lightweight." 

He loops an arm around Gavin's shoulders as one snakes around his waist. Neither of them talk on the way back; Gavin's usually a talkative drunk but Michael doesn't press him. He'd done that once before, and it turned out that Gavin was just trying not to throw up. Michael quickens their pace back to the hotel and doesn't think about how Gavin looks in the yellow light of the full moon.

\--

 

The next time they're poolside they're alone and it's the hottest day of the year, according to the weather report. Michael's taken up camp along the edge of the pool, knees bent and one hand trailing in the water, the other holding his book precariously above his face. He can feel the sun beating down on him and it's heady and intoxicating, makes his limbs feel heavy and languid, and he's definitely not up for anything more strenuous than a dip in the pool.

Gavin's in the pool beside him, alternating between doing some lazy lengths (and Michael wonders, watching out the corner of his eye, who the hell taught this kid to swim, because that is the most fucked up front crawl he's ever seen) and resting with his chin on his arms on the side of the pool. When he swims up to Michael the book gets put down and Michael squints a smile at him. 

"Hey there, Gavvy Wavvy," He says, and god, he's right there, an opportunity just begging to happen, "You look pretty comfy there," He continues, and Gavin nods, smiling bemusedly at Michael, "It would be a shame if someone were to," He reaches out a hand and finds Gavin's arms where they're resting on the edge, "Push you back in."

Gavin finally catches on but it's too late; one swift shove and he slides backwards (rather gracefully, actually) into the water with a shocked 'blub'. Victory never tasted so sweet. Until Gavin comes splashing up seconds later with an indignant "Michael!" and presses his cold, wet hands against Michael's sun soaked skin. He gasps, because fuck that is COLD, and bats the hands away while Gavin sniggers and splashes him more. 

"You prick!" Michael yells through laughter, finally finding the strength to sit up. It does nothing to stop Gavin's siege and he grabs at Michael's shins, trying to tug him into the water. Michael manages to evade his slippery hands and stumbles upright.

"Michael, come in the pool with me, boi." Gavin says. He's making moon eyes at him, and Michael's case is not at all helped by the, frankly rather adorable, way his hair falls over his face when it's wet. He is is well and truly fucked. 

Ten minutes later he's been roped into a game of "Marco Polo". He's not quite sure what rules they're playing by since Gavin's version does not seem legitimate whatsoever but there's yelling and hitting each other so it's probably relatively accurate. 

"Marco!" Gavin says from the opposite end of the pool, eyes closed and hands waving blinding in front of him.

"Polo." Michael says before ducking underwater and swimming a metre away.

"Michael, c'mon this isn't fair," Gavin whines, eyes still squeezed shut and standing a little dejectedly in the shallows, "I haven't caught you for ages and I don't like not being able to see."

"We're playing by your dumbshit rules so whatever unfairness you feel is your fault entirely." He replies but decides to be generous and give Gavin a sporting chance.

"Polo," He says, swimming closer, "Polo," Closer, "Polo," Closer still, until he's a foot away from Gavin.

"Polo." He says and Gavin opens his eyes.

"Got you." He doesn't tag Michael so much as he reaches his hand out and rests it on Michael's shoulder. There are water drops in his eyelashes.

"You win, Gav." Michael says and wonders when they started speaking so quietly or how his hand had found it's way to Gavin's wrist. He doesn't know if it's his pulse or Gavin's that he can feel under his thumb, but whoever's it is, it's racing. 

"Yeah." Murmurs Gavin and his eyes drop and fuck, Michael's vision tunnels and-

A yell, probably from the street, but it makes them both jump apart, Gavin actually going under the water. Michael stills in the water, suddenly too cold for him to bare, and when Gavin resurfaces with a splutter he climbs out as quickly as possible.

"..Michael?" Gavin says from behind him and he sounds so cautious Michael almost stops in his tracks. Almost.

"Sorry, Gav," He says, not turning around as he grabs the nearest towel. His throat feels thick and he hopes his voice sounds normal, "I'm feeling a bit cold. Don't wanna get the flu again." He knows it's a shitty excuse but what else can he say? 'Sorry, Gav, I almost kissed you and thankfully for you I didn't otherwise we'd be having an even more awkward conversation right now.'

"Oh, alright." Comes the reply. Michael doesn't know if he's imagining the hurt in his voice, but when he leaves (alone and feeling significantly worse than when he arrived) he vows to do something about it. This. Everything. Whatever 'it' is, Michael's gonna fix it.

\--

At work the next day he greets Gavin enthusiastically and tells him he was sick all night (heartsick, his brain says, and he mentally punches himself) and that he's sorry for what happened yesterday. Naturally, Gavin beams at him, tells a godawful pun, and things feel normal again. Michael smiles to himself when he turns back to his computer; relationship status with Gavin? Saved.

For the next week, even, they manage to pass it by as if the incident in the pool had never even occurred and Michael is relieved for the degree of normality they can salvage. It's not until Friday evening when Gavin suggests they all go back to Geoff's for drinks that Michael realises just how fucked up he made things.

The evening goes well enough to begin with; co-workers, friends, pizza, and alcohol courtesy of the Ramsey's is always a way to start a fabulous night and tonight is no exception. Michael sips the green concoction Griffon had handed him a while back, wincing slightly at the burn when he swallows. He doesn't even want to think about what's in it. Death, probably. Death and alcohol poisoning. Another sip and he decides to scrap it for something less likely to give him liver failure.

He passes Lindsay and Barbara huddled together on the sofa, Burnie retelling a presumably hilarious RTX story, and Miles doing his fucking Bane impression into an expensive looking vase. It's hard to believe sometimes that he's lucky enough to call these lovable idiots his co-workers.

Somehow the contents of the fridge look less inviting than the drink already in his hand, and he peers into the flickering yellow light searching for anything that'll make him drunk without the negative side effects of death. He's about to grab the only beer nestled at the back behind the carton of eggs when he feels someone press against his side.

"Hey, Gav." He says without even having to look. He feels rather than sees Gavin beaming at him. 

"Michael," He slurs and Michael wonders how much he's had to drink, "Everyone's outside. Why are you hiding in the fridge?"

Michael extricates himself from Gavin's arms and puts a good ten inches between them. 

"I was looking for something to drink."

"Not Griffon's punch?"

"I'd rather leave this party with my liver intact, if that's alright with you."

Gavin chuckles and the sound is warm and languid and it throws Michael back to the lazy heat by the pool. He blinks.

"Fair enough, boi. I'm glad you're not sick anymore."

Michael scrubs a hand over his face and half wishes he was anywhere else. The rest of him wants to never be away from Gavin. Then there's that tiny part in the back of his mind telling him how pretty Gavin looks in the dim kitchen, lit only by the glowing refrigerator light. Michael kicks the door shut - wouldn't want to be wasting the Ramsey's electricity bill.

Gavin seemingly doesn't notice any of this because suddenly he's leaning his head back and crowing, "I LOVE this song!". To be honest, Michael has no idea what it is but then Gavin grabs his shoulders and starts trying to tug him into the middle of the room, shuffling his feet and bobbing his head. Michael realises he's trying to dance, although it looks less like dancing and more like a drunken velociraptor figuring out how to walk for the first time.

"Michael, dance with me!" It's the smile that does it; the brightness that shines out of Gavin's face when he looks at Michael, all doe-eyes and hope, that makes him give in, makes him slide his hands into Gavin's warm palms and let him sway them from side to side. It's fun for the rest of the song (Gavin tries to persuade him to attempt the lift from Dirty Dancing. Michael flat out refuses that one, but he does let Gavin drop him into a dip and Michael shamefully commits the feeling of Gavin's surprisingly strong hand on his back to memory) until it's over.

They're a little breathless when they stop, falling back to lean against the kitchen counters.

"You're a good dancer." Gavin says finally and Michael's not sure how to respond so he nods. Gavin yawns. Michael knows that sign, has been around drunk Gavin long enough to know that yawning Gavin is probably 'about-to pass-out-soon Gavin'. Goddamn sleepy drunk.

"C'mon, Gav, let's get you to bed, yeah?" He doesn't think Geoff will mind putting Gavin up in the spare room for a night and Michael doesn't even want to think about trying to get him home; trying to move a drunk, sleepy Gavin is like trying to carry unconscious person, except with all the added benefits of Gavin actually being conscious and saying whatever bullshit comes into his head. 

They're halfway down the hall when Gavin slumps against him and Michael rolls his eyes.

"We're nearly there, don't pass out on me yet, you goddamn lazy fuck."

"Michael." Gavin murmurs into his shoulder as they struggle through the doorway.

Gavin sighs into his ear, eyes drooping closed, "I thought you were gonna kiss me the other day." Michael stills but by the time Gavin's head hits the pillow he's asleep. He watches the gentle rise and fall of his chest for a moment and presses his hands to his eyes to try and stop them stinging. It doesn't work.

"Yeah, buddy. I was."

He leaves.

\--

Michael wakes up at noon the next day to a pounding in his head, which is strange because he shouldn't even be hungover. It takes a minute to realise that the pounding is coming from his front door. He sits up, peering around his room for his glasses and some clean clothes and tugs them on as fast as he can because he knows who it is, knows the only person who doesn't ring the bell but chooses to hammer his fists against the door instead.

When he opens it, there's no one there. He doesn't even think, just grabs his keys and sprints down the stairs, two at a time. It's raining outside (of course it is what else did he expect?) and he spies the figure walking dejectedly down the steps.

"Gavin, what the fuck." He yells because he can't think of anything else to say.

Gavin turns and his stupid hair is drenched and sticking to his forehead and he looks pretty pathetic standing their in the rain.

"I need to tell you something." He yells back and Michael rolls his eyes.

"Well get inside, this isn't fucking pride and prejudice, Lizzie Bennet may not have caught a cold but you sure as fuck will." 

Gavin looks a little affronted (maybe he wanted to be Mr Darcy, although he reminds Michael more of a Bingley, to be quite honest) but follows him inside anyway.

He treads water into the carpet all the way up to Michael's apartment but takes off his shoes before he goes inside. It's the little things. Once they're inside, Michael makes a beeline for the coffee machine and tries to ignore the way Gavin's awkwardly standing by the door as if they've only just met.

"What are you doing? Other than dripping water all over my floor, by the way."

"Sorry." Gavin says, not answering the question. Michael sighs out through his nose and goes to get him a towel and a dry T-shirt. When the coffee's done a minute later he loosens up a little, warming his hands between it and shuffling forward to perch against one of the counters. 

"So, uh, you said you needed to tell me something?" Michael thinks that's a safe way to start, given that Gavin still looks like an animal he's trying not to spook. It doesn't seem to be the best thing to have said since Gavin swallows his mouthful of coffee to fast and starts choking, but that seems to lessen the tension in the room so maybe it wasn't the worst.

Gavin clears his throat.

"Yeah. Yes, I do," He clears his throat again and looks into his coffee like it's going to tell him his future. "Have to tell you something." This is going nowhere.

"Gavin?" He tries and it's like he lit a fuse. Gavin abruptly puts the coffee down and spins to face Michael.

"Okay. Okay, so it's like, you know that phrase? The one about the unstoppable force and the immovable object? It's a riddle or a paradox or something, like, what would happen if they met-"

"Well, wouldn't they just destroy each other? Boom." Michael makes an explosion with his hands. 

"No, because they're indestructible," Gavin says like it's obvious, "But the answer is that they can't exist at the same time. Like, if there is an unstoppable force then there can't be an immovable object. You get it?"

"Okay," Michael says slowly, "So did you come to my house in the rain just to tell me riddles?"

"No, no," Gavin's hands are twisting themselves in knots, "S'like. They can't exist together but they are actually the same thing. If the unstoppable force's momentum can't be changed then it would stop any object that moves relative to it, right? So it's both the unstoppable force and the immovable object."

He stops again but this time Michael doesn't say anything. Gavin edges forward until the tips of their toes are touching. 

"It's all about force." He murmurs. His eyes drop and Michael thinks about chlorine skin and summer heat. He can feel Gavin's too quick breath against his mouth but it's Michael who closes the gap between them. His lips press against Gavin's and he wonders if this makes him the unstoppable force. Then any higher thought capabilities he had are vanished by the way Gavin bites on his lip and opens his mouth against him. Michael tangles his fingers in his hair which is still pretty damp but he thinks he can deal with it. Anyway, Gavin's got his fingers in Michael's belt loops and this time he lets himself be dragged closer, kissing back as desperately as possible. 

Finally (although still too soon for his liking) he pulls back and rests their foreheads together.

"Were you flirting with me using physics?" 

"Had to think of something." Gavin replies and Michael huffs a laugh.

"And that seemed the most obvious way to get your point across?"

"It sounded better in my head." 

"Of course it did."

Gavin beams at him and kisses him on the lips again but quick and gone too fast. Michael tries to follow his lips when he moves back.

"I'm bloody freezing, can I use your shower?"

"Is that what this is for? You waltz into my home, blind me with science, and fry my brain with kisses, all to use my shower? I'm wounded you would use me in such a way, Gav." He says dramatically, pressing a hand to his heart. 

"Yes, I'm only dating you for your plumbing facilities. You can join me, if you want." He winks, probably aiming for seductive, but the effect is mostly ruined by the way he can't stop grinning like a moron. Michael grins back.

"You're a loser." He says as he follows him into the bathroom. 

"Yeah, but I'm your loser."

He's still thinking about that riddle later on when they're wrapped up in duvets and listening to the rain outside. If he's the unstoppable force does that make Gavin the immovable object? He's thrown out of his thoughts when Gavin says,

"You were gonna kiss me the other day, right? At the pool?"

"Heck yeah, dude. I was gonna kiss the shit out of you." 

Gavin beams at him and his face is like the sun.


End file.
